


Once Upon A Time

by Delilah_Joy



Category: American Idol RPF
Genre: Closeted Character, M/M, lap dance, strip club
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-14
Updated: 2010-01-14
Packaged: 2017-10-06 07:19:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/51112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Delilah_Joy/pseuds/Delilah_Joy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a long evening of photo ops at a strip club, Ryan and Simon fight about the feasibility of coming out, then reconcile with a little storytelling.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Once Upon A Time

In the car, afterward, Simon is in high spirits.  “Well, I think that went well,” he says, settling in against the upholstery.  “That’ll be all over the papers tomorrow.”

Ryan’s had too much to drink, and he’s in a sour mood.  He looks at Simon, who’s still got that fucking smirk on his face.  He looks ridiculous; the lipstick around the mouth was too much.  Ryan puts his hand to his own face, rubs at the pink smears.  “Great,” he says.  “My mom will be so proud.”

“Oh, come on,” Simon says, his voice still jovial.  “What’s wrong with you?”

“Oh, I don’t know, Simon.  I guess, somewhere around the sixth _hour_ of women rubbing themselves on my leg, I started to get a little tired of it.  And I started to wonder why the fuck we were doing this.”

Simon rolls his eyes.  “Right,” he says.  “It’s this conversation.  The one about poor little Ryan, who wants so much to be honest with the world, if only his mean old boyfriend would let him.”

Ryan remains silent, turns stonily toward the window.

“Look,” Simon says.  “This isn’t all me, you know.  You do these things quite willingly; you always have.  You’d do it more often if you were better at it.”

Ryan doesn’t answer, but he exhales heavily, because it’s both true and not true at the same time, and doesn’t Simon see that?  Yes, he’s made his choices, and it’s too late for him to be Adam fucking Lambert, but that doesn’t mean he has to be happy about the way things are.

“So, how do you see this going, exactly?”  Simon’s voice is sardonic.  He’s trying to get a response out of him.  “A cozy little chat with Ellen, opening up about how hard it was being a chubby, teenaged poof in the middle of Georgia?  Or will it be the magazine cover cliche?  Worked out well for Clay Aiken.  I don’t know--do you think you could get _People_?”

“Fuck off,” Ryan says, finally turning back to look at him.  “I didn’t say I was coming out.”

Simon shrugs.  “Well, don’t let me stop you.  You do what you like.  But I’m not coming with you.”

And that’s it; this is as far as Ryan ever gets in this particular line of thought.  Because he knows Simon is absolutely serious.  If Ryan wants to come out, fine.  Simon will support him, in the sense that he won’t stand in his way.  He’ll do all the interviews and say, “Well, it’s not exactly a surprise, is it?  Has _anyone_ been listening to a word I’ve said during the last eight years?”  He’ll even get sincere for a moment, say “Look, Ryan’s a good guy.  He’s a friend of mine, and I want him to be happy.”  And then he’ll--what?  Get caught picking up a hooker with tits the size of basketballs, or hire a film crew to help him put together exactly the right kind of sex tape to leak to TMZ.  And he and Ryan will never be alone in a room together again.

They ride the rest of the way in silence.  Neither of them speaks until they’re upstairs in Simon’s bedroom, getting undressed. 

“Come on, Ryan,” Simon says softly.  He’s standing in his boxers, on the opposite side of the bed from Ryan, his hand paused in the middle of pulling back the covers.  “You’re leaving in a few hours.  What’s this really about?”

And Ryan has a choice to make, because “what this is about” is exactly what he’s already said--that’s what it’s_always_ about--but Simon knows him too well, and there is something else, too, and it’s something so fucking stupid that Ryan’s embarrassed to mention it.

Ryan keeps his back to the bed as Simon slides in between the sheets.  He spends a long time unfastening the buckle on his watch and placing it on the bedside table.  Finally, he says, “You seemed to be enjoying yourself.”

He glances sideways at Simon, who looks baffled.  “You do understand,” he says, “that that’s the impression I’m trying to give?  That’s the whole bloody point, isn’t it?”

“No,” Ryan says.  “That’s not what I mean.”  He turns out the light and gets into bed.  He and Simon aren’t touching; Simon’s bed is so big that they practically have to fuck by semaphore anyway.

“Well, what _do_ you mean?” Simon asks.  He’s starting to sound annoyed.

Ryan closes his eyes.  This is childish, and he should let it go.  But he says it anyway.  “Your cock,” he says.  “You had a fucking hard-on when that one girl was climbing all over you.”

There’s silence for a minute, and then Simon bursts out laughing.  Ryan taps his fingers against the sheet, annoyed at them both.  He knows it’s stupid.  Their relationship isn’t exclusive, and it’s not like he thinks that particular girl, that nameless stripper, is a threat.  But Ryan was bored and annoyed, getting drunker and wanting to be anyplace but where they were.  And there’s Simon, laughing, his dick hard in his pants from some 20-year-old blonde girl shaking her tits at him.

“Well, it makes a more convincing story, doesn’t it?” Simon says finally, sounding amused.  “Now if anyone ever asks that girl if Simon Cowell enjoyed the lap dance, she can give an unqualified yes.”

“Right,” Ryan says.  “So you just willed yourself into arousal.”

“Well, no, not entirely.  Look, I’ve never said I _can’t_ get turned on by a girl, if the conditions are right.”

“Oh, and tonight, the stars just aligned.”

Simon laughs again and slides over until he’s next to Ryan.  He puts an arm out across Ryan’s chest and nudges Ryan’s leg with his knee.  “I like this jealous side of you,” he says, his voice dropping lower.

Ryan doesn’t say anything.  He’s not ready to be done with this.

“I’ll wager,” Simon says, “that you were paying so much attention to my trousers that you didn’t even notice my face.”

Simon leans into Ryan’s neck, places a soft, wet kiss just above his collarbone.  Ryan doesn’t react, but he also doesn’t object.

“What about your face?” he says.

“Well, that I had my eyes closed, for one thing.”  Simon licks the slight rise of Ryan’s Adam’s apple.  “Do you want to know what I was thinking about?”

Ryan can feel his anger dissipating a little.  “Randy?” he asks, trying for a joke.

Simon laughs, vibrating against Ryan’s chest.  “God, no.”  He presses his mouth to Ryan’s ear.  “First, I was thinking about Barbados, about fucking you by the pool in the middle of the afternoon.”

Ryan closes his eyes, feels the hot sun, sees the woven pattern the fabric of the chaise had embossed on his arms and back as Simon pushed into him.  Feels the almost-too-much sensation of Simon jerking his cock and plunging into his ass at the same time, the slickness of their bodies painted with sunscreen.  The slow luxury of a day when there was nothing to do but fuck and eat and swim.

Here, in the present moment, in this different climate, Simon presses against his hip.  He’s hard already, his cock radiating heat through the silky fabric of his shorts, and that’s always the thing that gets Ryan: the idea that he’s the one causing this reaction, that he can have this kind of effect on a man like Simon.

Ryan reaches out, flicks a finger across Simon’s nipple, just to hear his breathing change.  “What else?” he says, rolling onto his side and allowing Simon to press against his crotch.  “What else were you thinking about?”

“Well,” Simon says, running a hand down Ryan’s back and squeezing the soft flesh of his ass.  “After that, I started thinking about Oscar night, and the noises you made when I sucked you off in the limo at five in the morning.”

Ryan actually twitches at the memory: his tux pants open, Simon kneeling between his legs, the glittery night breaking into misty California dawn outside the windows.  His head thrown back against the leather, his hands in Simon’s hair.

Simon leans in, and they kiss, mouths open, making small wet noises.  It’s slow, languorous, not urgent.  Ryan traces the curve of Simon’s ear with his fingertip, then leans around to follow it with his tongue.

He tugs at Simon’s boxers, and Simon reaches down to help him pull them off.  Ryan takes hold of Simon’s cock and gives it a lazy tug.  He feels a drop of moisture at the tip.

“More,” Ryan says, moving down Simon’s body.  “Tell me more.”

Simon’s breathing gets ragged as Ryan licks the crease of his thigh, then takes his balls in his mouth, sucking in first one, then the other.

“Well,” Simon says, taking a minute to steady his voice, “that’s when I started thinking about this whole lap dance thing and how, if it’s someone you’re genuinely attracted to, it must be bloody hot.”

“Mmm,” says Ryan, licking Simon’s dick from base to head.  “Like who, exactly?”

“So egotistical,” Simon murmurs.  “Just some boy I know.  Some boy with a tan.”

“And what was this boy doing to you?” Ryan asks.  He takes Simon’s cock into his mouth.

Simon moans softly, doesn’t answer right away.  Ryan works his mouth, sliding up and down, his tongue moving lazily in and out as he goes.

“Well, see, that’s where it got a bit odd,” Simon says.  Ryan moves lower, licks a circle around Simon’s asshole.

“See, we were on the set of Idol,” Simon says.

“We?” asks Ryan, raising his head for a moment.

“Well, me and this...oh,”  Simon pauses, breathes heavily as Ryan sticks his tongue inside.  “Me and this boy, this eager little lapdog of a boy...”

Ryan stops what he’s doing, bites at the flesh of Simon’s ass.

“Ow,” Simon says.  He reaches down, swats at Ryan’s hair.  “As I was saying, this lovely, tan boy is up on the stage, and we’re in the middle of a show, but he’s staring at me like we’re the only two people there.”

Ryan sits up to take off his own t-shirt and underwear, then moves over to Simon’s side of the bed and opens the drawer in the bedside table.  Simon reaches out and runs a hand down the length of his side, from armpit to hip.

“Go on,” Ryan says,  “So this boy can’t stop looking at you.”

“Right.  So he introduces the song--God knows who’s singing, that wasn’t part of the fantasy--and comes down to stand behind my chair.”

Ryan tears open the condom and rolls it down over his cock.

“Oh, really?” Simon says, his voice low and thick.  “You _are_ feeling stroppy tonight.”

Ryan lies down next to Simon, and kisses him long and hard.  “I have no idea what ‘stroppy’ means, but I’m going to assume it has something to do with fucking your ass.”

“Hmm,” Simon says.  “You may want to avoid conversation with...well, anyone British.”

They kiss a little more, and then Ryan reaches for the lube.  “So he’s standing by your chair...” he says.

“And the lights have gone down on us, because all attention is focused on stage.  And I’m watching the performer, but I feel this boy’s hand on my neck.  And it’s very slow and subtle, but  he runs his fingers down the neckline of my shirt, and he’s got this light touch that’s just driving me mad.”

Ryan moves his lips back to Simon’s cock, as he probes with one slick finger.  “Relax,” he whispers.

Simon breathes in and out, lets Ryan stretch him.  When he can speak again, he continues, “Then he crouches down--and to anyone else, it would just look like he wanted to discuss some bit of business--and he puts his lips on my ear and whispers, ‘After the show, I’m going to fuck you till you can’t see straight.’  And it’s a little awkward, because I’m actually starting to get hard, right there in the middle of everything.”

Ryan moans a little and pulls himself up until he’s on top of Simon.  He lifts Simon’s legs.

“And I just want him to go away, because I can’t let anyone...”  He stops as Ryan pushes, pushes, and then all of a sudden he’s in.  They lay motionless for a minute.  Simon’s voice is uneven.  “See, I can’t let anyone see me this way, all hot and bothered, but this boy has his hand on my thigh, and he’s just lightly rubbing...”

He gasps as Ryan pulls back and then plunges in deeper.  “He’s rubbing my hard cock through my pants, and...oh, God...I’m totally powerless to do anything about it.”

“Is he going to make you come right there?” Ryan asks.  He’s moving faster now, and his voice is urgent.  “Are you going to just come in front of everybody?”

“I don’t want to, but I’m afraid I’m going to...oh, Ryan...and he’s just running his hands over me, and no one else is even noticing.”

Ryan takes hold of Simon’s cock and begins jerking it, not slow and teasing like in the story, but fast and rough.

“He loves it,” Ryan says, “He loves that he can do this to you.  And he’s going to make you come in front of forty million people, and there’s nothing you can do about it.  And you just hope they don’t notice the wet spot on your pants...”

Simon rears up, some unknown animal noise in his throat as he shoots all over Ryan’s hand and his own belly.  Ryan throws his head forward and pumps harder, and then he’s coming, too, and he’s moaning and thrusting and saying Simon’s name like it’s a prayer.

They lay together for a moment before Ryan pulls out.  And whatever happens tomorrow, whether or not the strip club photos work their sleight-of-hand, whether or not either of them ever decides to speak the truth into a microphone for everyone to hear, at least they’ve got this, another story to tell each other in the dark.

 


End file.
